


some of us are wild ones

by metonymy



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pegging, utter disregard for period accuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lagertha loves many things about Ragnar; tonight, she loves most his joy in discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some of us are wild ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cold_feets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_feets/gifts).



> This is all @cold-feets' fault. Also I know absolutely nothing about Viking era sex toys so we're just going to apply a Romance Novel Plausibility Filter to the whole enterprise.

Ragnar is a fierce warrior, true, and a brave explorer, and even a capable farmer. He is all that a man should be.

But the fact remains that when they take to their bed, he is often... well, lazy. Content to let Lagertha ride him, to let her take her pleasure at her own urging, and then finish with a few thrusts and haul her close for a sleepy kiss on the brow. Easy to please, and easy to distract and amuse in the darkness and warmth.

And easy to convince to try new things. When she murmurs in his ear that she wants him in a different way, Ragnar reaches up to palm her breast and smiles, that self-satisfied one-sided grin that's almost a leer.

"What do you want?" he asks, and it makes something inside of her burn a little higher, that he is asking _her_ , that he wants her to decide, and Lagertha loves him all over again.

"Roll over," she says instead of something disgusting, and he complies, folding his arms and resting his head and looking for all the world like he's about to fall asleep. She smacks him on one cheek just to make sure he doesn't.

"Is this your idea? To spank me like a child?" he asks, not turning around. Lagertha smacks the other cheek lightly for his impudence, then retrieves her tools. The oil from a trader has a scent of something grassy and green, and is golden in the lamplight when she pours it onto her fingers. Ragnar tenses at the first brush down his cleft, but relaxes as she trails down and over his bollocks. And even though it's new and strange she can still use the familiar sights and sounds, the way he groans and the way his legs tense and then relax as he adjusts and starts to enjoy her ministrations.

"Do you like it?" she asks, working the tip of one finger inside and cupping his bollocks with her other hand. Ragnar grunts, then manages something that sounds like _yes_ through the muffling furs. "Good." Lagertha hasn't done this before, but she decides more oil can't hurt and trickles it directly where her finger is disappearing inside her husband. And then she reaches for the other thing, the stone weight of it cool and smooth in her hand.

Ragnar slumps when she withdraws her hand, and starts to turn his head as she slicks the end of the tool with more oil. Then he jerks at the first touch of the blunt end against him, the lightest pressure.

"What is that?" he hisses.

"Something new. I'll stop if you tell me to," she assures him, and watches as he settles back onto his front. His arms unfold and he grips the edge of the bed as if preparing himself to be branded or flogged. Lagertha snakes her hand under him and gives his shaft a quick tug, her hand slippery with the oil, and his shoulders relax a little. He wiggles till his hips are propped up a bit on some of the rucked-up furs and she can reach under him a bit better. Her lips curl into a smile in spite of herself. Ragnar the brave, the bold, the one who always seeks the new.

This time when she presses the tool against him he holds himself still, breathing slow as she eases it in and past the resistance, just a bit. It's tricky to work the tool in with her hands slippery with oil, even though it tapers to a knob like a man's phallus, but it just makes her concentrate more. A bit more at a time, slow and steady, pushing inside her husband where he lies completely at her mercy, and Lagertha has to pause and catch her breath for a moment. Is this what a man feels, she wonders, when he takes a woman?

"Lagertha," Ragnar groans, bringing her back to herself. He's rutting against the furs now, she realizes, as she works the tool in and out, as she reaches under him again to slick her hand up and down his shaft. She twists her hand and pushes the tool in even further and he makes a noise like one gutted with a spear and spills his seed over her hand.

It's easier to pull the tool out, but she goes slowly anyway, easing it out and hearing his gusty sigh as he's left empty. Lagertha knows that feeling and wonders if he has that same ache she sometimes gets, sore but soothed like the aftermath of battle-fury. She wipes the tool and her hands clean and bundles everything under the end of the bed, then crawls up beside Ragnar. He doesn't seem to have moved in spite of the drying seed under his belly, but he tilts his head to give her a sleepy smile when she settles down next to him.

"Did it please you?" she asks, even though the mess he's made is answer enough. Ragnar throws an arm over her, the blue of his eyes clouded with satisfaction and the dim light, and pulls her close for a kiss.

"It was new," he says, and she smothers a laugh against his mouth.

"My brave warrior," she says fondly. Ragnar smiles again and closes his eyes.


End file.
